


eighty an hour and the radio loud

by wheezykaspbraks



Series: don't stop the car, let's drive [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Road Trips, Shotgunning, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 13:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheezykaspbraks/pseuds/wheezykaspbraks
Summary: They realize just how little money they have left in West Virginia. They’ve been sleeping in the car for a few weeks now, trying to preserve what little cash they have left, state hopping their way to New York. It’s unspoken but they both know that New York might be their stopping point, where they finish this trip and finally have to make a decision where to go from there. Eddie is terrified. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Richie decides that his future is somewhere far away from him.He's terrified because he thinks that Richie might be his future.





	eighty an hour and the radio loud

**Author's Note:**

> here we goooo

It’s already dark by the time they pull into an almost-empty motel parking lot. The engine rumbles too loud in the night and Eddie wishes, not for the first time, that Richie’s car weren’t such a piece of junk. He regrets that thought immediately, though, subtly pats the passenger door he’s leaning against in apology. She’s a broken down piece of junk but he loves her all the same.

Richie peers at the faded sign above them and whistles, “Two stars — look at us, livin’ like royalty!”

“It’s cheap and won’t ask for I.D.” Eddie drags their bags over his shoulders while Richie digs around in the glove compartment for his wallet, waiting by the trunk while Richie slings his guitar strap across his chest so it rests on his back. “Straighten out your shirt, though, you look like a mess.”

Richie laughs even as he adjusts the collar of his horrifically bright overshirt and brushes his hands over wrinkles that have been there for the better part of three days, since they last ducked into the bathroom of a diner to scrub their shirts with water and lemon-scented hand-wash and got kicked out before they could even finish rinsing out the suds.

Eddie’s pretty sure he catches a whiff of citrus as Richie breezes by, posture somehow both straight-laced and loose, hands tucked into the pockets of jeans that are starting to fray around the hems. He manages to look put-together and wrecked at the same time, something about the greasy tangled curls paired with a charming boyish smile that makes him look like he either hasn’t slept in a week or just rolled out of bed.

The girl at the counter barely glances up from her magazine — the cover reads _ TEENAGE _in bright bold letters — when Richie throws that smile her way, and Eddie stifles a laugh when Richie pulls various increasingly outrageous faces at her without a reaction.

“Should’ve done one of my voices,” Richie says after, swinging a set of room keys around his fingers. “The British Guy, maybe, make her think she has an international man of mystery staying here!”

“I would have killed you if you’d dragged out the British Guy.” Eddie counts the doors, _ 19, 20, 21, 22… _“Here, 23. Open the door before I freeze to death.”

“It’s not _ that _ cold.” The door swings open after a moment of fumbling with the lock. Richie steps out of the way and sweeps into a low bow.

Eddie snorts, hip-checking Richie as he walks past. “Says you. I’ve been in the same pair of shorts for two days, I think my legs are about to freeze off.”

“You want me to, uh, warm them up for you?”

“Fuck off, dick.” Eddie laughs. The room is small, off-white walls and carpet a particular shade of gray that makes Eddie think it didn’t start that color. He catches sight of a burn mark in the corner of the room at the same time that he gets hit with the stench of smoke. “Oh, jesus christ — if you even think about smoking in this room I’ll choke you with your own damn cigarette.”

Eddie hears one of Richie’s more subdued laughs behind him as he dumps their bags on the bed. It’s a double, the same size as his bed back at home, more than enough room for both of them to squeeze into. “I’ll make sure to go outside if I need a smoke.” Richie agrees easily, voice echoing slightly, and Eddie turns to find him peeking his head into the bathroom.

“Decent shower?” Eddie asks hopefully.

“It has a showerhead, so yes.” Richie already sounds delighted as he unbuckles his belt.

Eddie bristles, “Go into the bathroom before you get undressed!”

“Sorry Eds, thought you’d want a show.” Richie winks over his shoulder and Eddie’s cheeks definitely aren’t warm.

“A horror show, if it’s your naked body.”

Richie gives another one of those easy laughs, crossing the few steps between the bathroom and the bed to pick up his bag of clothes. “You think there’s a laundry room somewhere here?”

“We don’t have to check out till late tomorrow, I’ll check in the morning.”

“Sure thing.”

Eddie all but collapses onto the bed when he hears the shower start up.

It’s been a little over two months since they left Derry. Eddie’s pretty sure they’re near Kansas, or maybe they crossed into Colorado — he’d stopped keeping track somewhere along the way. Richie had been all about the spontaneity of their trip, eager to go wherever the roads took them. Eddie had insisted on a carefully constructed itinerary. A few weeks into the trip he’d realized that he hadn’t checked the map for several days, and he’d found himself throwing said map away at their next stop. Since then it’s been back roads and highways and scenic routes, take-away meals and random diners and ducking into grocery stores where Richie inevitably walks out with the pockets of his jeans full of various products he most certainly didn’t pay for.

They rock-paper-scissors most nights that they stay in the car, and Eddie wins more often than not — Richie always cries bullshit and pouts up a storm but it’s not Eddie’s fault that Richie is so easy to read; a quick flutter of lashes for rock, a twitch of his lips for paper, a brief scrunch of his nose for scissors. Eddie’s spent the better part of their entire lives learning these little signs.

“Holy shit, that was the best hot shower of my life.” Richie says as he drifts out of the bathroom a while later, a cloud of steam following after. His glasses are still a little fogged and he’s wearing a pair of boxers, bright blue with splashes of yellow, slung low on his waist and Eddie blanks for a moment, eyes caught on the stray drops of water sliding down his chest. Richie’s always been this gangly kid, pale and scrawny and awkward in countless different ways. He’s spent years growing into himself, though, broad shouldered and tall. He’s still a little awkward around the edges but fuck, if he doesn’t make it work. Eddie vaguely thinks _ holy fuck _before his brain manages to catch up.

“Are those on backwards?” He blurts.

Richie pauses drying his hair with a thin-looking towel. “Sure are! You’re awful observant, Eds.”

“_ Why _ are your boxers on backwards?”

“You get four wears out of ‘em, then.” Richie taps at his temple. “Inside, outside, front, back. Pretty smart, huh?”

“That’s _ the _ most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Richie snorts, dropping onto the bed hard enough that Eddie has to shoot out a hand to steady himself from toppling off the side. “What do you do, then? Just not wear anything underneath your shorts? That’s pretty hot, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie bristles. “God, you’re _ gross_, I’m not talking about my _ underwear habits _with you.”

Richie leers at him, leaning in closer, and Eddie catches a whiff of the shitty dollar store cologne Richie always buys. It makes him think of afternoons in a room a hundred times messier than his own, thighs pressed together, long fingers messing with the chords of a faded guitar, second-hand and just as loved as the broken down car in the driveway. “Aw c’mon, talk dirty to me, boxers or briefs? Or maybe something _ lacy, _bet you’d look real nice in pretty red lace, Kaspbrak — ”

“_Beep beep, Richie._” Eddie grabs his bag and launches himself off the bed, marching for the bathroom. He slams the door on Richie’s cackling laughter.

Eddie mutters to himself, hisses _ something lacy _ as he fiddles with the shower’s heat and strips angrily. Fuck Richie, seriously, fuck him and his stupid fucking bullshit jokes, Eddie _ hates _him, Eddie hates how much he really really doesn’t hate him. Eddie definitely hates the way his stupid body reacts to the look Richie gave him. He glares at his definitely-interested dick and hisses, “you’re such an asshole.” and then feels like an idiot, insulting his own dick.

There’s a plastic-wrapped bar of soap on the window that Eddie scrubs himself down with, disdainfully eyeing the lack of shampoo before lathering the soap into his hair. It smells distinctly _ bland_, almost eye-wateringly so. The scent makes him think of weekly visits to the doctor, everything white and pristine. His fingers tremble as he washes the suds out of his hair.

Eddie belatedly realizes his problem as he goes to turn the water off. “Are you serious?” he shakes his head, beyond irritated. His stupid traitor dick is _ still _ hard.

He purses his lips. Music is drifting from the room, probably Richie messing around with his guitar. And there’s the rushing water, somehow still hot enough to make his skin tingle. For a moment he thinks of turning the stream cold but, well. He’s a hormonal boy, less than a month from his eighteenth birthday — he’s _ allowed _ to jerk off, thank you very much. And if his best-friend-slash-crush-slash-love-of-his-life happens to be in the other room, then sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles.

Eddie takes a steadying breath as he takes himself in hand, and almost laughs at himself a moment later. He’s got his shoulders tense and his feet squared and he feels a little foolish, just…holding his dick.

“You got this,” he mutters to himself, “it’s just jerking off, you’ve done it a hundred times before. Just...go. Jerk.”

It takes a while to get into it. He jumps every time he thinks he hears the music fade out or the doorknob jiggle or a noise from somewhere outside, hand flying out in front of himself frantically in a motion that would totally give away exactly what he’d been doing if Richie _ were _ to walk in on him.

He finally manages to relax, pressing his forehead to the cold tiles, shivering at the sparks that race down his spine as he twists his wrist just right. He’s not thinking about much of anything, focusing more on the feeling of his own hand, until he’s suddenly thinking of Richie, and _ oh _— Eddie has to raise his free hand to his mouth to smother the noise he makes. For a moment he thinks about Richie opening the door and finding him like that, leaning against the shower wall with his wrist caught between his teeth, toes curled and spine arched as he moves his hand over himself. Maybe Richie would make one of his shitty jokes, or maybe — maybe he would come closer, or stay in the doorway and watch Eddie bring himself to the edge before interrupting. And maybe Eddie would freeze, or the low whisper of Richie’s voice would be enough to have him coming all over the tiles.

Eddie makes an embarrassing sound into his own arm, thinks about the gentle sweep of Richie’s hand over his lower back and comes so fast that he’s almost embarrassed for himself.

Eddie recoils away on shaky legs as soon as he realizes what he’s done. He thinks of the amount of people who’ve done that exact thing on that exact wall and gags, frantically cupping water into his hands and futilely splashing it onto the streaks of cum that slowly start to slip away.

“Jesus fuck.” Eddie hisses to himself, “so gross, so fucking gross, gonna have to bleach my whole goddamn body, what the fuck.”

Eddie twists the knob and the water shuts off, and he’s left shivering in the dirty motel shower he just jerked off in like some sort of animal with no control, thinking about his best friend. His best friend, who’s maybe more than his best friend, but also maybe not because they still haven’t _ talked _ about it. And Eddie _ wants _to talk about it more than anything but it’s so much easier to just sit and stew and worry over whether or not his feelings are one-sided. At least there’s no real chance of rejection that way. He dresses quickly and doesn’t look at himself in the fogged up mirror.

“Have a good time?” Richie grins when Eddie finally leaves the bathroom. Eddie shrugs, easily agreeing,

“Sure did, Rich. Can’t believe the hot water lasted as long as it did, though. I wouldn’t mind staying here a few more nights if it means I get to take more showers like that one.”

Richie pulls a face that Eddie ignores. He knows that Richie was looking for a reaction but, well. He’s not really in the mood to bicker right now. Richie’s still shirtless, backed up against the headboard with his legs outstretched and his guitar in his lap. It’s a light faded brown, all of the losers’ signatures scrawled across the surface. It had been a gift that they’d all pooled their money together to buy, and Richie had cried when Bev had handed it over the night of his fifteenth birthday. Richie denies it, of course, but Bill took several photos, and Eddie has at least one of them buried in his bag at any given moment, along with several other photos of the losers that Bill had taken over the years. Sometimes he pulls them out and flips through them when he’s missing their friends with an ache a little more persistent than the pain that always seems to rest heavy on his chest.

Richie absently strums the strings as he watches Eddie straighten out their bags in the corner of the room. “Hey.” he finally says after a while, when Eddie has flipped through every channel on the grainy TV three times over without settling on anything. “I wanna sleep.”

Eddie switches off the TV. Richie’s already set his guitar aside when he turns around, finds him crawling under the blankets and fluffing up the single pillow before setting aside his glasses.

Eddie rubs sweaty palms against his thighs, bare below the hem of his shorts. Richie settles on his side and waves a hand invitingly at the space in front of him with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Eddie laughs, but even he hears just how hollow it rings. He switches off the light above the bed. There are streetlights right outside their window and the curtains are thin, throwing gentle orange shadows across the planes of Richie’s face. He’s so pretty that it makes Eddie’s heart hurt.

He knee-walks up the length of the bed, dropping face-down before rolling onto his side. He feels Richie move the blankets around till they drape over the both of them.

A moment later Richie curls up around him, tangling their legs together and pressing his face into the back of Eddie’s neck. Eddie feels sick with himself. God, what the fuck was he doing, jerking off thinking about Richie? He’s had those thoughts before, countless times, but he’s always been so good about ignoring them in favor of any other fantasy. He feels disgusting and horrible and — 

“Stop thinking so hard.” Richie huffs, nudging his nose behind Eddie’s ear.

“Can’t.” Eddie admits weakly. He’s always so weak around Richie, he loves him so hard that he softens and all of his walls crumble away.

Richie hums, trailing lazy fingers down his side, ticklish even above the thin fabric of his shirt. “Penny for your thoughts, then?”

“Just overthinking.”

“About little ol’ me?”

“Got it in one.”

“Oooh, what’s my prize?” Richie shifts to slide his arm across his side, tangling their fingers together and resting their linked hands against Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie huffs a laugh, pressing his face into his pillow for a moment. “I dunno, Rich. What do you want?”

Richie hums again, more thoughtful. “A kiss?”

Eddie laughs. Richie whines a high-pitched _ hey! _ and nips at his ear scoldingly. “Sorry, sorry,” Eddie apologizes with a grin. “That’s just not what I expected.”

“Well? Where’s my prize, lover-boy?”

“Lover-boy.” Eddie repeats under his breath. Richie shifts and leans forward to expose his cheek, tapping at the space just under his eye.

“Right here, doll.”

Eddie catches sight of the freckle he’s wanted to put his mouth on since he first realized that he was interested in boys, on the curve of a jaw that only becomes more defined with every passing year. He presses his lips there, feels the hitch of Richie’s breath at the gentle contact.

“Eddie.” Richie says, squeezing his hand just as softly. Eddie draws away and feels Richie settle down behind him, hands still linked on Eddie’s waist. Richie sweeps a thumb over his knuckles and god, Eddie feels — Eddie _ feels. _ He feels warm and flushed and cold and shaky and delighted and nervous and terrified and like he’s never been so brave in his life.

Richie presses a kiss to the base of his neck and mouths something against the skin there. Eddie nearly asks, wants to know what he said so badly that his teeth almost ache with the pain of holding the question back. Instead he squeezes Richie’s hand in return and presses his face into the pillow, and tries his best to fall asleep.

—

Richie’s gone when Eddie wakes up. He reaches out and finds air, the bed cold on Richie’s side.

The room is still dark, and it takes a few moments for Eddie to realize that Richie’s put something up over the window, only a few slivers of light peeking around the corners. One of the blankets they use when they sleep in the car, probably.

Eddie almost falls back asleep, warm under the blankets that are tucked up around his chin. His desire to see Richie drives him from the bed, though he brings one of the sheets to wrap himself in. He doesn’t get a response when he knocks on the bathroom door.

He finds Richie outside, leaning against the metal railing. He’s got a cigarette held loosely between his fingers and Eddie’s heart swells because it’s cold as fuck but Richie had come outside to smoke just because Eddie asked him to do so.

“Nice view.” Eddie finally says, after Richie’s taken a few drags. Richie freezes for a moment before the tension seeps out of his shoulders. He’s shirtless, somehow, only in backwards boxers and a pair of bright red socks with dinosaurs all over them. Eddie thinks that he’s never been more in love.

“Spaghetti.” Richie shoots him a two-fingered salute as he turns around. “I don’t think that I’d call a trash-covered parking lot a nice view, but hey, to each their own.”

Eddie huffs as he moves closer, draping part of the sheet over Richie’s shoulder. He sees the smile that quirks Richie’s mouth as he tugs the sheet over himself. He’s got his glasses back on, and the blue of his eyes stand out against the orange glow that the streetlights cast over him. “I was talking about you, dick.”

“Aw,” Richie croons, putting out his cigarette before flicking it over the railing. “That’s real sweet, Eds!”

“Yeah well, it was either you or the trash-covered parking lot, and I guess a trashmouth is at least a little nicer to look at.”

Richie puts a hand to his forehead and mimes swooning. “Golly-gee, Edward! You sure know how to make a boy feel special.”

“Beep beep, Richie. And your Southern Belle Voice is horrible.”

“Yowza! Kaspbrak takes a shot right where it hurts!”

Eddie laughs despite himself and Richie beams, clearly proud of himself. “You’re not as funny as you like to think.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Eds.” Richie murmurs. He ducks down and Eddie smiles to himself when he feels the kiss Richie presses to his forehead, lingering for only a moment before pulling away. “You coming back to bed or you wanna stay out here a while?”

Eddie trails after him, back into the room. “It’s freezing, if I stay out I’m pretty sure my dick will freeze off.”

Richie eyes him over, “We can’t have that, it’s your best asset.”

“My best — you’ve never seen my dick!”

“No,” Richie closes the door behind them, locking it for safe measure. “But I refuse to believe that the prettiest boy in the world has an ugly dick.”

“_You’re _an ugly dick.”

“I’m complimenting you! Why are you insulting me!”

“Who knows, Rich.” Eddie yawns, settling down under the blankets again. “Guess it’s just one of the many mysteries of the universe.”

“Uh-huh.” Richie sounds amused, squeezing onto the bed and settling his head against Eddie’s chest. He drums his fingers against his sternum for a moment. “Any other secrets?”

Eddie hums vaguely, already drifting off under the comforting weight of Richie’s legs thrown across his own. “Yeah, heaps.”

“Care to tell me any of ‘em?”

“Nope.”

Richie laughs quietly. “Y’know, fair enough. I’ll let you keep your secrets, Kaspbrak.”

“How noble of you, Tozier.” Eddie runs a hand through Richie’s hair, a little waxy, most likely from using soap to wash his hair as well. It’s still nice hair though, Eddie kind of wants to play with his hair forever.

“You’re so talkative when you’re tired.” Richie murmurs, trailing absent patterns on Eddie’s chest. “Bet you don’t even know it.”

“Fuck you.” Eddie says, and thinks _ or fuck me. _ Richie laughs, suddenly, and shakes his head at Eddie’s questioning sound.

“Just go to sleep, spaghetti man.” Richie chuckles. “Before you say something you’ll regret in the morning.”

Eddie thinks that he murmurs something in reply, but he’s out before he can think about it.

—

If Eddie has to listen to Duran fucking Duran one more time, he’s going to lose it. He’s going to claw the stereo out and destroy Richie’s fucking mixtape and maybe crash the car just to spite him.

“I’m just _ saying, _” Eddie shouts over the steady crooning pouring from staticky speakers. “If I have to listen to Hungry Like the Wolf again, I won’t be responsible for the damages caused.”

Richie responds by shouting _ do do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo _ and Eddie bangs his head back against his headrest. He’s pretty sure Richie doesn’t even _ like _ Duran Duran, he almost definitely remembers Richie teasing Ben for having them on his favorite mix, he’s convinced that Richie’s just fucking with him at this point.

“I hate you.” Eddie says sadly. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met, I regret every moment leading up to this.”

Richie laughs and turns the volume up. Eddie scowls and begrudgingly thinks that he’s still in love.

—

Somewhere in Utah, they stargaze on the hood of Richie’s car in the middle of an empty field, and Eddie laughs till he cries while Richie points out various patterns in the skies and makes up stories about their origins.

“And that one’s Dicholas, the dickless — “

“You’re such bullshit!” Eddie wheezes, “There’s no way Dicholas is a real constellation!”

“It totally is!” Richie insists, eyes wide and earnest enough to set Eddie off again. Richie’s beaming when Eddie manages to catch his breath, and Eddie kisses him before he can think about it. Richie smiles, presses their shoulders together, and points at the sky again. “There’s Staniel, named after the most uptight guy who ever lived, that’s why the constellation is just a straight line.”

“What the fuck are you _ talking about_?”

—

Richie takes them to a drive-in for Eddie’s eighteenth birthday. It’s a showing of some old movie neither of them have seen before, and Richie looks a little embarrassed when he realizes that it’s not quite the action-filled film he was hoping for. Eddie holds his hand across the center console and Richie smiles sheepishly, and it’s the best birthday he could ask for.

—

Their car breaks down as they pass into Nevada and Richie almost cries. There’s a spare tire in the trunk but Richie tearfully admits that he has no idea how to change it, and Eddie grins. One of his neighbors had been a mechanic for the better part of thirty years, and he’d spent part of that summer helping out wherever he could at the garage. It was mostly handing over tools and running around on errands, but every so often one of the guys who worked there would show him how to jimmy a window if he lost his keys, or teach him the difference between smoke that smells like tar or maple-syrup or burning paper, or, once or twice, how to change a tire.

“I think that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Richie says as Eddie wipes off his forehead. There’s dirt all over his hands from digging around the tire, because Richie’s an unprepared idiot without a car jack. The dirt is soft and easily moved, but still. Gross. Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes. He knows that he looks sweaty and dirty and disgusting and there’s no way they aren’t finding a hotel for the night, Eddie will _ die _ without a shower.

Richie brandishes a tire iron from somewhere in the backseat and cheers him on while he works, helping wherever he can.

Richie almost cries again when they set off, new tire working perfectly. He stops in the middle of the empty highway to lean across the console and kiss Eddie, and Eddie laughs when Richie pulls back with dirt smudged over the tip of his nose. Richie sticks out his tongue and Eddie is in love.

—

Richie’s practically vibrating in his seat from the moment that they cross into California. Ben’s all the way over at Palo Alto, a college kid at Stanford. Eddie’s heart feels fit to bursting every time he thinks about it. Quiet gentle Ben, smart enough to make it to _ Stanford _, Eddie’s so fucking proud of him. He remembers warm cheeks and pleased smiles whenever he would get an A on a test, remembers late study nights where Ben would help walk him through anything he didn’t quite understand, remembers Beverly kissing Ben for the first time after Ben excitedly showed off his acceptance letter. He remembers Beverly kissing Ben again the day she packed up her belongings in her aunt’s car, off to pursue her own future at a university much closer than Stanford, held hands and promises to keep in touch with all of them.

Ben looks good, he look _ happy._ There are bags under his eyes and he looks tired, but there’s a brightness about him that Eddie never quite saw in Derry. He’s blooming here, becoming his own person, Eddie glances away and blinks back the tears that sting his eyes when Ben pulls Richie in for a hug because Ben _ deserves _to be happy and he finally is.

They see a movie with him, some action flick with more explosions than dialogue. Richie complains afterwards about the lack of gore and Eddie says _ if you wanted gore we should’ve seen a horror _and Richie agrees that they’ll definitely watch a horror next time, and Ben watches them with an amused little smile.

“Where to next on your trip?” He asks from the other side of the booth. They’re in a diner that Ben had sworn by, and as Eddie steals one of Richie’s fries he remembers why he always trusted Ben’s judgement the most.

“No idea.” Richie retaliates by taking a sip of Eddie’s drink. “Somewhere right along the coast, probably. We’ve mostly stayed, like, inland this whole time? I wanna see the beach.”

Ben blinks. “You don’t have it planned out?”

“It’s better like this.” Richie shrugs. “We go where we go, we see what we wanna see and we leave when we feel like leaving.”

“Do you know when you’re gonna...stop?”

Eddie frowns. Somehow, in the past few months, he’s never really thought about it. Their road trip has to end eventually, they can’t stay on the road forever, they have to get back to their normal lives and figure out what to do.

“Nope!” Richie takes a bite of Eddie’s burger, making a pleased sound. “Shit, that’s good. I’ve missed burgers. Eddie, remind me to buy a burger every day from now on.”

“No.”

“Aw, that’s my Eds.” Richie pinches his cheek and Eddie bats him away half-heartedly.

They drop Ben off later that night, and Eddie cries a little when he pulls him in close. Ben’s always given the best hugs, he forgot just how much he missed Ben’s hugs.

Richie lays on the horn as they drive away, stopping only once they can’t see Ben’s silhouette anymore.

“I wanna see Stan next.” Eddie swallows thickly. He misses their friends every day, but seeing Ben had thrown the sharp ache to the forefront of his mind, and Stan — well. Stan has always held a special place in his heart.

“Yeah.” Richie agrees easily. “Bev’s in New York, too — we’ll find a way to see both of them.”

Richie reaches out to intertwine their fingers, and Eddie presses a kiss to the back of his hand.

—

They head for the coast first, like Richie had wanted. They find a little seaside town, quaint and cute and quiet. There’s rows of tidy one-story houses with neat front yards, and lawns mowed and plants trimmed. It almost reminds him of the nicer part of Derry, if Derry weren’t constantly overshadowed by a crushing feeling of misery. Or maybe that was just how Eddie always saw his hometown.

They park right up on the sand, along with another car further down the beach. There’s a retro-looking ice cream parlor across the road and Richie lights up when he sees it. He turns big pleading eyes on Eddie, as though Eddie could ever say no to him.

Richie orders a chocolate thickshake — _ extra thick_, Richie winks at the bored-looking girl behind the counter, and Eddie knocks their shoulders together with a scolding _ Richie_! under his breath — and adds, “A vanilla, too, thanks.” before Eddie can interrupt. 

“I could’ve ordered for myself.” Eddie says, knowing that he’s just being stubborn.

Richie agrees, “Yeah, I know.” and drums his fingers against the smooth counter. Eddie huffs, rolls his eyes, leans just a little closer to bump their hips. He sees the smile that curves Richie’s mouth and knows that he reads the unspoken _ thank you _.

Eddie grabs both thickshakes when the barista slides them over, holding his head high and ignoring the amused little laugh Richie gives.

“Inside or out?” Richie’s already holding the door open, but Eddie replies, “Outside.” anyway. It’s the middle of the week and Eddie can only see a small handful of people wandering the streets, a family down by the shoreline across the road. They find a vacant bench a little away from the family, close enough to their car that Richie can keep his eye on her.

Eddie grew up on warm summer weather and blue skies but there’s something different about this place — maybe it’s the salt in the air or the sound of crashing waves or the general sense of freedom, but he feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in a long time. He sips at his drink, pauses and blinks before narrowing his eyes. He sips harder, cheeks hollowing out, and glares angrily at his drink when he barely gets any vanilla for his efforts.

“Aw,” Richie teases with a syrupy-sweet smile. He fiddles with his straw and Eddie eyes the dirt under his nails with disdain. “Too thick for you, princess?”

Eddie takes a slower sip of his shake, catches a glimpse of Richie’s lips twitching at the slurping of the straw. For a moment he thinks of tackling the _ too thick _ comment but, well. _ Princess. _“If you ever call me that again I’ll slaughter you in your sleep, Tozier.”

Richie laughs, sudden and delighted, loud enough that several people look in his direction. “I think that you like it!”

“I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate it.”

“You totally liked being called princess.”

“I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate _ you.” _

“Is that your _ thing, _Eds?”

Eddie places his empty glass on the table calmly, “My _ thing _is you shutting up.”

“Ooooh, _ Eddie_, like mother like son, huh?”

“Fuck you!”

Richie laughs again, more obnoxious this time. “Fuck me yourself, coward!”

Eddie realizes belatedly that he’s smiling. Richie’s giving him that look again, soft and pleased. Eddie kicks out at him under the table and snickers when Richie catches his foot between his own.

Richie hums pleasantly at the taste of his shake, big blue eyes blinking happily behind the lenses of coke bottle glasses.

“_Chocolate_.” Eddie mutters, shaking his head. Too sweet, way too sweet, chocolate always makes his teeth hurt. Richie raises an eyebrow, slurping loudly at the last of his thickshake and hollowing out his cheeks. Eddie watches blankly as Richie squints and grimaces and rubs at his own jaw a moment later. “What’s that, Richie? Too thick for you?”

“Look at that! Princess Kaspbrak gets off a good one!”

“Jesus _ christ _ — ” Eddie hisses, throwing his straw at Richie’s head. Richie laughs and ducks out of the way easily.

They finish off their drinks, Eddie using Richie’s straw after realizing that his was now resting sadly in the sand, and Eddie stays by the table while Richie kicks off his shoes and splashes around in the shallows. Eddie grimaces to himself at the thought of sand-sticky jeans.

“Hey, you ever seen the beach, Eds?” Richie calls, hands cupped around his mouth.

“I’ve never left Derry and you know that, asshole.” Eddie shoots back. He both hates and loves the easy way Richie laughs, like Eddie is something small and adorable in its feistiness. Eddie wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes and flips him off, even though Richie is facing away. He still feels smugly satisfied either way.

Richie’s got water clinging to the lenses of his glasses when he eventually makes his way back to the bench. He’s grinning, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“You look like a drowned rat.” Eddie nods at Richie’s wet curls, hanging heavy in his face. “You were barely ankle deep, how’d you manage that?”

“Guess it’s just one of the many mysteries of the universe.” Richie says, and Eddie vaguely thinks that he’s meant to know what that means.

“Uh-huh.” He says instead, watching Richie push his hair away from his forehead. He looks kinda cute like that, and then Eddie remembers that Richie _ always _looks kinda cute and he turns away before Richie can see his smile.

—

There’s a nice little inn near the middle of the town. Richie charms the elderly owners and they hand over their extra-soft towels with a wink that Richie beams at. The room is nicer than any they’ve stayed in before, sheets floral-patterned and impossibly soft.

Eddie jerks off in the shower again, shoulders hunched and cheeks flushed under the warm water. He manages to keep himself from coming all over the tiles this time. He stands on shaky legs and ducks his head directly under the stream of water, chest warm with thoughts of Richie.

A part of him still feels a little dirty, even after all this time. They’re not together, Richie isn’t his _ boyfriend _ — but they hold hands, and they’ve kissed, and surely that has to mean something. He feels a little foolish as soon as he thinks it; he’s held hands with all of the losers before, and Stan was his first kiss. It doesn’t have to mean _ anything _. Even if the thought of Stan still makes his chest fuzzy in the way it did when a fifteen year old Stan had gotten beyond tipsy in Richie’s basement the same night they handed over that guitar, pressing fluttery kisses all over Eddie’s face while Eddie giggled and halfheartedly pushed at his cheeks.

Even if his breath catches in his throat thinking about how Stan had looked at him, all soft and sweet before pressing a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Even if he has to frantically turn the shower cold when he thinks of the last time he saw Stan, clothes all neat and perfectly smoothed out, soft hands holding his cheeks while Stan whispered _ gonna miss you, Eddie _ and kissed his forehead. Eddie vaguely remembers wanting to ruin his button-up, fingers trembling with the need to twine into soft blonde curls.

Eddie forces himself from the shower and twists off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist as he forces his breathing under control. God, it’s been so long since he’s even let himself think of Stan like that.

Eddie stares at his flushed reflection and slaps his hands against his own cheeks. He doesn’t even have _ one _ of them, let alone both. He’s wanted Stan and Richie for as long as he can remember, spent years pushing down his feelings. It was so much easier to focus on Richie, loudmouthed and brazen and begging to be seen. Eddie bitterly thinks that a part of him will always ache for Stan.

Richie’s flicking through staticky channels, perched on the end of the bed. He’s got a lit cigarette between his fingers and Eddie laughs in disbelief when he sees the disabled smoke alarm above their heads.

“Look at you,” Eddie teases. “The owners were totally charmed, basically eating out of your palm, and here you are smoking in one of their rooms. Tsk, tsk.” He definitely doesn’t mention the fact that he just jerked off in one of said owner’s bathrooms.

Richie laughs. “Hey, they told me to make myself comfortable! Getting high always makes me feel pretty comfortable.”

“Getting high? Where the fuck did you get pot?”

Richie winks, tapping at his nose. “That’s for me to know, Princess.”

Eddie scoffs. “Y’know, Rich, I’m starting to think that maybe that’s _ your _ thing.”

“Who, me?” Richie widens his eyes, already comically large behind his frames. “Why I never! I’m practically virginal! Pure as snow, you know?”

“I can’t stand you.” Eddie huffs, pulling out a book from the bottom of his bag. It’s a second-hand piece of crap that Richie had swiped for him a few states back, spine cracked and all but falling apart, cover completely worn with age. The book itself is something that he wouldn’t have been surprised to have as assigned reading in Literature, pages upon pages of flowery descriptions that he scrunches his nose up at. It’s boring and slow-paced and he’s almost certain that it’s a romance, but it’s better than nothing, and he’s already read through the other books that he’s started to stack in the backseat of their car.

Richie holds out the joint with raised eyebrows. Eddie raises his eyebrows right back at him, setting onto the bed beside him with the book in his lap.

“I can’t smoke, asshole, you know that.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Right, right, because of your asthma, which isn’t actually asthma. It’s psychosomatic, y’know. All in your head, or whatever.”

Eddie bristles. “Yes, Richard, I’m well aware.”

“Oooh, _ Richard! _ Pullin’ out the full names! D’you wanna be Edward or Sir tonight?”

“I _ want _ to be miles away from you, right now.”

Richie laughs easily. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

“Unfortunately.” Eddie agrees dryly. Richie’s shaking his head, smiling, and Eddie goes to open his book right as Richie says, “Would you? If you could smoke, would you?”

Eddie pauses, slowly closing the book again. “I don’t know. Maybe? I guess I’d like to try it.”

Richie’s giving him that _ look _again and Eddie feels warm all over, suddenly. “There’s a way to smoke for people who have asthma.”

“What?” Eddie laughs. “Shut the fuck up, no there isn’t.”

“There totally is!” Richie leans in, and Eddie briefly gets caught up in his eyes. For a dizzying moment he thinks that Richie has the sprawling Mediterranian oceans caught in his eyes, a shade of blue so deep that he could drown in it. “It’s called shotgunning.”

“Shotgunning.” Eddie repeats doubtfully, and if he sounds a little breathless, well. It’s not like Richie notices things like that.

Richie leans back and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. “Yep. Wanna try?”

Eddie wants to tell him to get fucked but finds himself nodding, a little dizzy just thinking about how close Richie had been. His brain always goes fuzzy around the edges when Richie is that close.

“C’mere.” Richie murmurs. Eddie shivers at the low rumble; Richie always sounds nicest in the mornings, voice a lazy drawl that sends sparks skittering down his spine. Eddie’s never heard Richie’s voice quite like this and as he slides closer, he decides that he definitely likes it.

Eddie feels like a live wire, skin lighting up where Richie brushes his fingers against the curve of his jaw.

“Tilt your head.” Richie’s lips curve into a slow smile when Eddie does as he’s told, cheeks warm with the way Richie’s looking at him. “Breathe in when I breathe out. Try not to die, yeah?”

Eddie shoots him an annoyed look. Richie grins, lifting the joint to soft lips he spends a shameful amount of time thinking about kissing. He inhales deeply and Eddie watches how his chest expands, stretching the fabric of his shirt tight. He feels Richie press his thumb against the hinge of his jaw, parting his lips as he vaguely thinks that Richie should wear tight shirts more often.

The smoke spreads a shocking warmth through his lungs to the tips of his fingers, a bitter taste sticking to his throat as he presses in closer to Richie’s solid form beside him. Richie pulls him in easily. He feels the brush of eyelashes against his cheek, cold-chapped lips against his own for a brief second.

“Holy shit.” Eddie wheezes, coughing as he pulls away.

Richie grins, cheeks pink, “Aw, Eds! Did I take your breath away?”

Eddie flips him off. His face is burning and he knows that he’ll blame it on the coughing if Richie asks. “Christ, d’you do that for fun? That _ burns _.”

“Surprised you didn’t cough up a lung.”

“I thought you said it was safe for people with asthma!”

Richie laughs, taking a slow drag. It’s kind of gross just how attractive he looks, eyes all dark and cheeks flushed pink as he holds it for a moment. Eddie leans away from the cloud of smoke that billows around them on the exhale. “Not really, like I said, it’s psychosomatic, right? It won’t fuck with your lungs if you don’t think it’s going to fuck with your lungs.

A part of Eddie wants to lash out, he could have _ died, _ that's totally not how that shit works_. _ Instead he sighs and rolls his eyes, tightens his fingers on Richie’s shoulders and leans in to press their lips together, demanding, “again.” even as Richie raises the joint to his pretty mouth with a spark in his eyes.

—

“What are we doing, Richie?” Eddie sighs. Richie glances at him, raising his eyebrows. They’re parked in some empty lot halfway across the country, the sky a dusky blue as the sun dips out of sight that makes him think of Richie’s eyes. Eddie’s lips are bruise-bitten and swollen and he licks his lips, just for a moment, thinks of how Richie’s mouth tastes like the tooth-achingly sweet energy drink they’re sharing between kisses over the stick-shift between them. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep not knowing. What we’re doing — it’s good, it’s _ great_, but I don’t want this if it means you’re going to keep acting like it’s all some big joke.”

Richie throws back the last of the drink, wipes at his kiss-reddened mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you want me to say, Eds?”

“I want to know what this means to you.”

“I don’t know what this means, Eddie.” Richie drags a hand through tangled curls, “I don’t know — fuck, I don’t _ know. _ You and the others are the only people I’ve ever cared about, all I know is that at this point, my world is split between you and everything that isn’t you. You’re all I think about, all I _ want _ to think about.”

Eddie swallows. “That sounds a lot like love to me.”

Richie laughs, a quiet shaking sound that makes Eddie think of a final gasping breath. “I’ve never loved anyone before. I don’t think I know how to do it right.”

“There’s no right way to love someone, Richie. We’ll just find a way that feels right for us.”

Richie stares at him for a while, and Eddie feels his neck tingle uncomfortably even as he forces himself to keep their gazes locked. Eye contact has always made him feel a little wobbly around the edges, like if stares into someone else’s eyes for a little too long he might just fall apart at the seams. Richie looks away first and Eddie can’t stifle the sound of relief he makes.

“I’ll try.” Richie drags the back of his hand over his mouth again, a nervous tic he’s always had. “I’ll try, Eds.”

Eddie nods, leans just close enough to brush their shoulders together. “That’s all I’m asking, Rich.”

—

They’re in Arkansas and Richie is crying. He has nights like these, sometimes, and every time it makes Eddie feel a little like he’s dying because there isn’t much he can do. Sometimes Richie wants to be held close and other times he recoils away from touch, sometimes he wants to listen to music till their ears ring and other times he curls up with his hands over his ears like every sound hurts. There’s no rhyme or reason to nights like these and Eddie hates it, hates how fucking useless he feels.

Richie always swears up and down that nothing’s wrong, _ really Eds, just one of those nights, I’ll be good as new in the morning_. He chokes out the words through tears and a shaky smile and god, how Eddie wishes he could fix this.

It’s 3am and they’re in a some fast-food place with the sign so faded Eddie couldn’t make out the name, and Richie is crying into his fries. Eddie watches him helplessly from the other side of the table.

They have to leave eventually. Richie’s hands shake so bad he can’t light his cigarette. Eddie does it for him and gets a wobbly smile in return. For once Richie is leaning against the car rather than perched on its hood like Eddie, and Eddie has the overwhelming urge to reach out and pull him close, tuck him up under his chin and take care of him. It doesn’t seem like one of those nights, though, so Eddie keeps his hands firmly by his sides.

Richie proves him wrong, dropping his cigarette when it’s barely half-burnt and turning shiny eyes on him. His cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes red and swollen and Eddie aches with how much he wants to comfort this boy. Richie steps in close enough to press his brow to Eddie’s collarbone. Eddie softens, _ shhh _s his quiet sobs, brushes gentle fingers through messy curls that definitely need a wash with proper shampoo and not shitty soap from gas station restrooms.

Richie is still crying when he pulls Eddie in for a kiss. It’s nothing more than a simple press of their lips together before Richie drops his head back to Eddie’s neck, but it’s more than enough for Eddie’s heart to break.

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s voice is thick and it hurts to hear. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Eddie presses a kiss to his temple, his forehead, his cheek, everywhere he can reach with Richie doing his best to stay hidden in the safety of his neck. “It’s okay, Rich, you don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.”

They sleep squeezed together on the backseat that night, Richie’s back curled up against Eddie’s chest like he’s small enough to fit there. And it’s almost funny, because he _ does _ fit. He’s tall and lanky and towers over Eddie, and he fits perfectly in Eddie’s arms.

—

They realize just how little money they have left in West Virginia. They’ve been sleeping in the car for a few weeks now, trying to preserve what little cash they have left, state hopping their way to New York. It’s unspoken but they both know that New York might be their stopping point, where they finish this trip and finally have to make a decision where to go from there. Eddie is terrified. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Richie decides that his future is somewhere far away from him.

He's terrified because he thinks that Richie might be his future.

—

“So there’s this boy that I like.” Richie says. Eddie makes a confused sound, glancing over. They're in some cute little park, empty during the middle of the week. Eddie's on the swingset and Richie keeps pushing himself down the slide, as though his legs don't take up half the length of it. “He’s super cute. Pretty brown eyes, swears like a sailor, wears the cutest little shorts I’ve ever seen — he’s pretty much the whole package.”

Eddie presses his smile into his hand. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. So he’s like, perfect, right? Right. Of course he is. And I’m pretty sure that I love him. But I’ve been kind of a dick about it before and I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Well, fuck,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve got a real problem on your hands.”

“Exactly. I was thinkin’ of, like, taking him out for a big fancy dinner and serenading him on the beach or something? But he hates sand, so. That’s out.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.”

“The smartest — don’t tell him I told you that.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Hopefully not forever.” Richie winks overdramatically and Eddie laughs, sudden and delighted. Richie beams, eyes all bright behind his glasses.

“I can’t stand you.” Eddie says, but there’s a tenderness that softens the edges of his words. Richie’s smile goes all sweet at corners when he hears it, and he blows a kiss across the space between them.

—

They’re meant to be meeting Stan at his dorm in a few hours. They’re camped out in some diner, splurging on stacks of waffles and coffee for breakfast. Richie has a smudge of maple syrup on the corner of his mouth and Eddie wants to lick it off, settles for reaching across the table to brush his thumb over the mark. Richie’s eyes go dark when Eddie sucks his thumb into his mouth to lick off the lingering sweetness.

“You ready to see him?” Richie leans back in the booth. He looks _ good _, he’d actually attempted to drag a brush through his tangled mess of curls and they sit a little neater than usual. He’s been growing it out over the past few months and his hair sits in sweet little curls around his jaw, longer than it’s ever been before. The summer sun has brought out the smattering of freckles high on his cheeks and given his skin a healthy glow. Eddie’s fingers itch with the need to reach out and touch, put his hands on every part of Richie’s body he possibly can. He settles for sipping at his coffee.

“Who, Stan? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Eddie asks, and then immediately thinks a terrified _ oh god what if he got hotter _ and his hands shake so hard for a second that he almost drops his cup.

Richie raises his eyebrows. “Because he’s Stan and you’re, like, in love with him?”

This time Eddie _ does _ drop his foam cup then, and it thuds as it hits the table. “ _ What?” _

“Wait,” Richie suddenly looks a little less sure of himself. “You _ do _ like him, right? Fuck, did I read that wrong? It was just, the kiss when you were younger, and the looks, and I’m pretty sure that you doodling E + S in the margins of you schoolwork wasn’t for Sonia, unless there’s something you need to tell me?”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Eddie hisses, desperately wiping at the spilt coffee with the napkins provided. “Jesus, what the fuck Richie, why would you even — what the fuck.”

“I was wrong. Oh my god I was wrong, can we never mention this again?” Richie shrinks down in the seat, face bright red. “I just thought — I mean, he felt the same. And I like both of you. And I know that you like me, so we could’ve, I don’t know, talked about it or something, but holy shit I was wrong, do you hate me now? Please don’t hate me now.”

Eddie falters in his movements. Richie knew. Richie knew and he didn’t mind. Richie knew and he didn’t mind because he liked Stan, too, and he thought that Stan might like them back. Eddie leans back in his own side of the booth. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.” Richie agrees, sounding mortified. Eddie fumbles for a moment, blurts,

“You weren’t wrong. I do — yeah. I do. I didn’t know that you....you know. Liked him. Too.”

Richie laughs, a little deliriously. “I’m pretty sure he was my first real crush after you.”

“I was your first crush?”

“Obviously.”

Eddie grins. “Stan was my first crush.”

“Damn, beat out by Stan the man.” Richie’s laugh wobbles around the edges, but he’s leaning forward again, looks a little less ready to bolt out the door any second.

“So.” Eddie drums his fingers against the edge of the table. “What’s that mean for us?”

Richie gives him one of those looks that always sets him on fire from the inside. He adjusts his glasses, a new pair with purple arms that he stole a few towns back after his other ones got shattered beyond repair. That look definitely isn’t the only thing that makes him feel like he’s burning up, Richie looks disgustingly good in his new glasses.

Richie pushes himself out from the booth with a flourish that Eddie smiles at. He spins on his heel for a moment, straightens out his shoulders and thrusts his hands out.

Richie has pianist fingers, bitten down nails, perpetually bruised dry-cracked knuckles, bony wrists that he covers in bands and bracelets and, on occasion, a plastic Mickey Mouse wristwatch that Eddie is almost certain once belonged to his little sister. Richie holds his hands out to Eddie with a smile that makes him feel almost heartsick, with all of the ways that he loves his clumsy boy. He knows what Richie is offering, something wonderful and terrifying, something new, something _ more _ . For the first time, he’s offering _ RichieandEddie _with a hopeful smile and nerves hidden in the barely-there tremble of his fingertips.

Eddie takes his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> so. open ending. very very tempted to write a third part with streddie, if anyone would be interested 😳


End file.
